


where the wounds are

by kimaracretak



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Blood, Dubious Consent, F/F, Knifeplay, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: Only Oksana ever calls her pretty like this, like it matters.
Relationships: Anna Leonova/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14
Collections: Ladies Bingo 2019





	where the wounds are

**Author's Note:**

> ladiesbingo 2019, 'dark tone'

"Anna," Oksana says, softly, in the voice that always makes Anna forget that anyone else had ever spoken to her kindly, "Anna, please don't cry."

Anna shuts her eyes and tries to comply. It's difficult, the cuts from Oksana's knife stinging all up and down her arms, but she tries. She always tries for Oksana, at school and in bed, and it's going to be the death of her. Of both of them.

"There you go." The bed creaks, Oksana sliding over her body, silk over skin. She kisses the corner of Anna's eye, the warmth of her tongue flickering out to taste her tears. "You're so pretty, Anna, being pretty is no reason to cry."

Only Oksana ever calls her pretty like this, like it matters. Anna does not think she's pretty at all, sweat-damp and red with blood inside and out, but she lets Oksana say it anyway. She wants it - she doesn't want it - she wants it more and less than she wants any of this, Oksana's small body curled around hers hard in the dim twilight of her bedroom.

"You can take more, right?" It's not really a question, but Anna nods anyway, the back of her head knocking into the wall. She doesn't open her eyes, but she can imagine Oksana smiling, Oksana wiping down the knife blade and surveying Anna's body, deliberating over her next piece of skin, her next design.

In truth, Anna doesn't know if she can take more. Her cuts are throbbing in time with her empty, aching cunt, and all she wants is the touch of Oksana's hand, for the brushes of her fingers instead of the bite of the knife. Even Oksana's teeth would be better - would be her, not this soulless extension of her that moves swift and alien over Anna's body.

But it's Oksana who's asking. Oksana using her words, like Anna was always begging her to - Oksana talking enough for the both of them, when guilt and desire and the yearning for something _else_ has taken hold of Anna's tongue like a gag. So Anna nods, because it's all she can do. Because the details don't matter.

The knife is sharp enough that she doesn't feel the cut, slicing over the thin skin covering her hipbone. Deep enough to bleed, to scar; not deep enough to wound. It's a new thing Oksana has taught her, that she is a person who wants to know what it is like to be hurt. She knows so much less pain than Oksana has, and though she cannot imagine that this makes anything better for the girl, a part of her still hopes. If the world will not give her kindness, Anna can at least give her this.

It's why she cannot say anything but _yes_, no matter how much she wishes she could sometimes - but then, Oksana is getting better and better at chasing away any other words.

Something cold presses between her legs, and Anna whimpers. It's the hilt of the knife - it must be, because she can feel Oksana's fingers there as well, the barest hint of warmth and Anna lifts her hips, chasing the contact as a thin rivulet of blood snakes down over the top of her thigh.

"Does it hurt?" Oksana's voice is down near her hips now, her mouth latching onto the crease of Anna's inner thigh.

Anna reaches down to wind her fingers through Oksana's hair. Pulls, just like the open edges of her cuts are pulling at her skin and lets Oksana's soft murmur ease the pain. "Yes."

They're at their worst when they're honest with each other. She doesn't mean to hurt - doesn't expect Oksana to stop no matter what she says, isn't sure that she even wants her to stop.

Oksana pauses. The knife strokes up and down her cunt, refuses to slip inside. "Does it hurt too much?"

"No."

It's the sort of lie Oksana deserves.


End file.
